


Guardian Demon

by GayDemonicDisaster (scrapheapchallenge)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Caring Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Being a Demon (Good Omens), Crowley is a Little Shit (Good Omens), Crowley is a Sweetheart (Good Omens), Crowley's Rat Army, Crowley's Rats, Crowley's fuck shit up jacket, Gen, Guardian Angel, Guardian Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), Guardian Demon, Guardian Demon Crowley (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Queer Guardian Demon Crowley (Good Omens), Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens), prankster Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:14:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23771419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapheapchallenge/pseuds/GayDemonicDisaster
Summary: Humans can put themselves in the most awful predicaments. Aziraphale has his work cut out protecting them from themselves, lucky he has a helpful house husband and retired demon to lend a hand when needed.Originally I was going to call this "Guardian Angel", but Crowley kept being such a helpful husband that I decided to rename it.  Just random Ineffable Husbands fluff.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 60
Kudos: 227





	Guardian Demon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theycallmeDernhelm (onyourleft084)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onyourleft084/gifts).



> inspiration meme below, but when I added Crowley to the mix, it got more interesting, so feral double dad energy instead.  
> 

Crowley looked up from his phone as the bell above the bookshop jangled sharply and the door slammed back. He raised one curious eyebrow above his shades and tipped his head sideways to see through to the front door. If it was a customer, then Crowley was about to make the phrase “raise hell” really mean something to them, but it wasn’t. It was his husband. Aziraphale’s mouth was a thin, angry line and he radiated frustration from every pore. 

Crowley hurriedly waved a hand in the direction of the kitchen to set the kettle boiling for a cuppa, then stood up and waited for Aziraphale to stomp back to the office area. The angel paused, seeing Crowley standing there with arms open, sighed, then dropped his bag on the floor and stepped into the welcoming embrace with a huffing sound, burying his face in the demon’s chest. Crowley pressed a comforting kiss to the top of his head and patted his back. 

“Rough day, love?”

“Mmmmph.”

“Kettle’s on.”

“Nnk you,” Aziraphale’s thanks muffled in Crowleys’ shirt.

After a few moments, the kettle clicked off, and Crowley extricated himself from the embrace to go and pour them a drink. He got the mugs from the cabinet and reached for the tea caddy when Aziraphale called out. “Not tea, coffee, with baileys in it instead of cream.” He paused. “And an extra shot of whisky, actually,” was added, as an afterthought. 

Crowley reached for the other cupboard instead, and then, checking over his shoulder first to make sure the angel hadn’t come in the kitchen, waved his hand at a blank bit of wall to reveal a hidden demonic drawer there, which he slid open, rummaged in, and withdrew a large bar of dairy milk chocolate and a packet of Jaffa cakes from the secret stash. He placed them on the tray next to the mugs and waved the drawer back into hiding again. 

Crowley sauntered back into the office area and set the tray down on the little coffee table. He handed the packet of Jaffa cakes wordlessly to Aziraphale, whose face lit up. He opened the packet and began devouring them with a vengeance. Crowley set the coffee on the desk beside him and sat back on the sofa to sip at his own. 

Half a packet of Jaffa cakes, and quarter of a cup of coffee down, and Aziraphale was ready to talk. 

“He’s such a blessed _idiot_ , darling.”

Crowley nodded, understandingly, and continued to sip his coffee in silence. 

“I mean, does he even have any _idea_ how hard it is to keep up with him like this? I wasn’t built for this kind of rushing about, Crowley, I really wasn’t. This is Gabriel’s idea of a sick joke, I’m certain of it, assigning me to this petulant whirlwind of chaos.”

“So, it was the adrenaline junkie again today, huh?”

Aziraphale nodded. “Bradleigh. It was bad enough with the rollerblading, and the skateboarding as he grew up. Then he got onto the wakeboarding, snowboarding, kite surfing, then the hang gliding. Now he’s onto parkour. He missed a set of spiked railings by an inch today, Crowely, a mere _inch_. I had to do a lightning fast miracle on physics to bend the metal away from him when he fell or it’d have been something irreversible.”

Crowley nodded sympathetically. 

“But that’s not the worst bit.”

Crowley tipped his head to one side and waited. 

“His friend has talked him into going base jumping at the weekend.”

“How’re you going to keep pace with him doing that one then?”

Aziraphale grunted and took another gulp of coffee, then devoured another Jaffa cake. 

“You might well ask. I was rather hoping that you might have an idea, darling.”

Crowley thought for a moment. “Well perhaps you could get your wings out, then a quick concealment miracle so no one can see you, fly alongside.”

“At those speeds? Don’t be ridiculous, Crowley.”

“Huh? He’ll just be at terminal velocity at most, until his parachute deploys, what’s the big deal?”

Aziraphale sniffed and shifted uncomfortably. “Not everyone can fly like you, dearest. We aren’t all Jonathan Livingston Seagulls.”

Crowley grinned at the reference and finished his coffee. “Want me to take it on for you then? I don’t mind, love.”

Aziraphale’s face lit up. “Oh, would you?”

“Anything for you, Angel.” Crowley smiled and tipped him a wink. He reached out and nudged the bar of dairy milk closer to Aziraphale. The angel took it and unwrapped it gratefully. He broke off a piece and tossed it to Crowley, who caught it in his mouth deftly. Aziraphale ate the next piece then finished his coffee.

Crowley stood and collected the empty cups and the tray, leaving the chocolate for his husband to finish. He gave him a quick kiss as he sauntered past to the kitchen, deftly sidestepping a small robot vacuum cleaner with googly eyes stuck on top of it as he went.

* * *

Thursday was Lucy duty. Aziraphale didn’t mind this one at all. He’d left Crowley minding the shop again, glowering at customers and allowing an unsettling demonic aura to unfurl around him that made any customer lingering too long feel distinctly uncomfortable and leave in a hurry without pressing to buy any books. Crowley could do a rather better job of it than even Aziraphale could, and he was also rather better at dealing with the local mobsters who turned up once a decade or so. (Whenever a new incumbent took over and sent some goons around to try to threaten Aziraphale into protection money, or “fire insurance” as they called it.)

The last lot that Aziraphale had dealt with had cleaned up the bookshop and gone to do some minor good deeds. The most recent lot who had turned up when _Crowley_ was in charge had not only spring cleaned the bookshop entirely, they’d also repainted the sign outside, done the grocery shopping, and made a substantial donation by emptying one of their bank accounts and the entirety of several safe deposit boxes and given it all to a local LGBTQIA charity. Crowley didn’t do things by halves. 

Aziraphale studied Lucy from a distance. She was 19, about 5’6” with a curvy build, and shoulder length brunette hair falling in gentle waves. She was currently sitting on a bench on the university campus, staring at the pile of books on the picnic table in front of her and looking thoroughly lost and on the verge of tears. At least this one knew who he was. Aziraphale nipped into the coffee shop around the corner and came back with two steaming cups and a packet of pastries. He placed them down on the table between them and sat down opposite her with a smile as she looked up. 

“Oh, hello, Mr. Fell.” she smiled gratefully. Aziraphale smiled back and sipped at his tea, nudging the packet of pastries toward her encouragingly. She dived in appreciatively. 

“Want to talk about it?” Aziraphale asked, gently. 

Lucy swallowed a mouthful of pain au chocolat and sipped a bit of coffee to help it down before answering. “It’s too much. I don’t know where to start.”

Aziraphale smiled. “How does one eat an elephant?” he asked, seemingly apropos of nothing. Lucy looked confused. Aziraphale grinned a little wider. “A bite at a time.” He cast his gaze down to the pile of books. “Break it up into little tasks, don’t think of it as one big job, but a series of smaller ones. Maybe try just skimming through one book first, set the others aside, make notes on each piece that seems relevant, then break for a cuppa. Then start on the next, and once you’ve done a few, take a look at the notes for each individual book and see how you can weave them together. Leave the cross referencing till later on. Just pop them all in a computer document then you can copy and paste the paragraphs around at will until they’re in the order you want, far easier than written notes.”

“But my laptop broke.” Lucy sobbed, remembering that was another thing on her plate to deal with that she couldn’t afford. Aziraphale looked sympathetic. Technology wasn’t his forte, but he knew someone who could help. 

“Give it here, I’ll see what I can do, dear.” Lucy delved into her bag and lifted the offending article out, festooned with stickers, and handed it over gratefully. 

“Can other people see you?” she asked, curiously. 

“Well, yes.” Aziraphale replied, confused. “Unless I want them to forget.”

“But you’re my guardian angel, you said.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Indeed, but I’m also real, I’m not a figment of your imagination if that’s what you were worrying about, dear girl.”

Lucy looked relieved. “Thanks, it’d been bothering me. Thought I was losing my marbles from stress.”

Aziraphale smiled warmly and pinched a brioche from the bag before standing to leave. “I’ll see what I can do about your computer, I’ll see you in a few days.” Lucy breathed a sigh of relief and opened the first book. At least she could pop some post-it-note markers in the relevant pages to get started. She felt a little more at ease now.

* * *

Aziraphale put the laptop on the table in front of Crowley, who looked at it, uncomprehending. “‘Sup?”

“Can you fix it, dearest?”

“Uh, not really no. I can infest it with twelve of the most demonic viruses ever let loose in the history of computing, but fix it? Nah. Not my thing, why?”

Azirpahale looked crestfallen. “It’s just you’re so good with computer hacking for your demonic activities and I thought you might be able to do something with this for Lucy.”

“Oh, well, _hacking_ , yes, there’s that, but that’s the bad stuff, breaking _into_ computers, just _breaking_ them, finding blackmail material hidden on them, that’s fine, but ‘m a demon, Aziraphale, fixing things isn’t my thing, sorry love.” He looked at his husband’s expression and softened.

“Tell you what, I used to do a bit of shoulder demon stuff for a guy who worked on an IT support helpdesk, tempted him into all sorts of naughty shenanigans, had him take down the entire network for a major international bank a few years ago, I’ll take it to him, he’ll be able to fix if for you.”

“Oh thank you, darling, you really are…”

Crowley raised a warning eyebrow at him. 

“If you’re about to say the word ‘nice’, Angel, you should know it took me 2 hours to fix the bookcase last time I slammed you against it, and I _know_ you’re doing it on purpose, by the way.”

Aziraphale looked sheepish. “Bedroom instead then?” Crowley grinned. 

“Absolutely.”

* * *

It was Friday. Crowley sauntered up behind the human and tapped him on the shoulder. He flinched and dropped his cup, spilling cola all over the table in the fast food restaurant. Crowley grinned. “Hi Jason. Got a little favour I need some help with.” Jason spun around to take in the looming skinny shape behind him. 

“Oh, uh, hi. Yeah…”

Crowley snapped to miracle the mess off the table then slid the laptop between them as he took a seat. “Nothing fancy, quick fix job, that’s it.”

Jason looked unsure, he stared at the laptop as if it might bite him and made no move to touch it. He looked around surreptitiously. “... whose is it?” he whispered. Crowley rolled his eyes. 

“Doesn’t matter, it’s nothing illegal this time. Completely above board, I’ll even pay you for it.”

Jason looked confused. “This isn’t some demonic evil then?”

“No _p_ e.” Crowley grinned, amused by the human’s discomfiture. 

“Really?”

“Absolutely.”

“How can I trust you?”

Crowley looked hurt for a second then his expression hardened. “You can’t. Fix it.”

Jason pulled on a pair of gloves from his pocket before reaching for the laptop. Regardless of the demon’s words, he still didn’t want to risk his fingerprints on it just in case. He booted it up and tapped a few keys. After a few minutes he turned it off again, got out a screwdriver from his pocket and removed the back panel, tinkered for a little while, put it back together again, booted it up, nodded in satisfaction and spun it around again. 

The desktop wallpaper was a very pink fan art drawing of two film characters making out. Crowley blinked, then nodded, He wasn’t going to let the human’s feeble attempt to embarrass him work. It’s not like it was even his laptop. He shut it down again and slid a couple of notes across the table. “Thanks.” He stood to leave then paused and looked back at the computer hacker. “Catch you around and… be good.” He stalked off. 

“Be good?” Jason muttered to himself incredulously. Mr. Crowley had never said that to him before. He shrugged and finished his burger.

* * *

Meanwhile Aziraphale was hanging out with Lloyd. Lloyd was in his early 20s, tall, gangly, with unruly black afro hair, and was sitting at the bar, downing pints of Newcastle Brown Ale. Aziraphale was matching him drink for drink but with martinis instead of pints. 

“Bunch of bastards, it sounds like” Lloyd declared, and took another swig. 

“Mmhmm” Aziraphale agreed. “They are, rather.”

“Sounds like my bosses too.” Lloyd observed. 

The angel nodded. “There are similarities, yes. Commiserations, dear chap.” He chinked his martini glass to the neck of Lloyd’s beer bottle and they both took another drink. 

Lloyd was an easy one. Keep him company, keep him out of trouble, make sure he got a taxi home, but mainly give him someone to talk to. It helped that they both worked for organisations that didn’t place employee morale very high on the list of priorities, so Aziraphale and Lloyd could have a good bitch about work with each other while enjoying an after-work drink. Well, technically an in-work drink for the angel, as he was on duty, but still. 

They sat at the bar and watched the football. Neither of them actually understood the game, but each of them thought that the other enjoyed it and feigned interest in the name of friendship. It would be some years before the truth would come to light and they’d have a good laugh over that fact. 

After a while, Crowley sauntered in and plonked the laptop down in front of Aziraphale before leaning in to give him a kiss. “All fixed, Angel.”

“Oh, thank you, dearest.” Aziraphale beamed. Lloyd tipped his bottle vaguely toward the demon with a nod of greeting. 

“Hi Crowley.”

“Hi, Lloyd. Doin’ ok then?”

Lloyd nodded. “Could be worse. Join us for a pint?”

Crowley shook his head and wrapped an arm around his angel. “Nah, gotta get this drunken reprobate back home again, want a lift home?.”

The human nodded and smiled. “Awfully kind of you, wouldn’t say no, thanks.” Crowley let the “kind” comment slide this time.

Once dropped at home, Lloyd waved them off happily. He was feeling rather more relaxed about his stressful day than he had been at the beginning of the evening. Aziraphale was always good company.

* * *

Saturday. Crowley moaned. This one was going to be tough. He cast his gaze over at Aziraphale, still wrapped tight in the duvet and smiling blissfully in his sleep. The demon sighed and stretched languorously, joints popping, spine curving in ways that no human corporation’s ever could. He considered the task ahead, probably best to do some really thorough stretches to start the day along with some good warm-up exercises later on before the main event. 

Which is why when Aziraphale woke up a little later, it was to a steaming cup of English Breakfast tea on the bedside table waiting for him next to some slices of toast in the toast rack. There was also some butter and jam on a tray, and his husband stretched out on a yoga mat next to the bed, apparently tying himself into a pretzel. He sat up and sipped his tea while he watched Crowley manouvering into various poses and stretching out every muscle in his lithe, sinewy body, and tried not to think of all the sinful things that he’d like to do with, and to, said body. 

“Morning, gorgeous” Crowley murmured when he noticed the angel was awake and nibbling his toast appreciatively. 

“I’m ever so grateful you’re taking Bradleigh on for me today, love.” Aziraphale said, and took another sip of tea. “You will be careful, won’t you?”

Crowley grinned demonically. “‘Course. Wanted to stretch my wings for yonks, Angel. This is as good an excuse as any. I’ll do some wing stretches when I get there later, do a few warm-up flights while I wait for them to arrive, and stick to the daft bugger like glue once he does.” He glanced at the bedside clock. “I’d better get moving though, it’s a long drive.” He stood up and leant down to give his angel a farewell kiss. “Catch you later, beautiful, enjoy your day off.”

“Oh, no, no rest for the… well, good, I suppose. I’m going to go and spend the day with Lucy, take her laptop back, keep her company for a little bit, she’s been getting a little depressed recently and I’d like to keep her spirits up. I thought a bit of shopping, manicures, then an afternoon in with a movie and takeout so she can tell me _all_ about this new boy of hers over a tub of ice cream.” 

Crowley nodded approvingly. “Wish I could hang out with you too in that case, oh well, count me in for next time will you, Angel?” He blew his husband another kiss and sauntered out of the door. 

* * *

Crowley sat with his feet dangling over the cliff edge while he waited for the gaggle of humans to turn up for their illicit base jumping expedition. He’d stretched his wings out and preened a little, casting the odd shed feather out into the breeze and watching them spiral upwards on the thermals as the wind caught them. He did a few stretches and then pushed himself off forwards and spread his wings wide, feeling the welcome lift under his feathers. He did a few barrel rolls and spins, looped around a bit, pushed for height then plummeted downward in a high speed stoop, wings tucked tight to his body, pulling out gradually and soaring upward again. 

He repeated the exercise a few more times before he was happy, then landed lightly back on the turf at the top of the cliff, checked his concealment miracle was still working ok by creeping up on some rabbits undetected, and then sat down to wait a bit more. 

After a while, he heard them tramping up the path, a group of five of them, carrying backpacks, with a sixth tagging along to carry surplus equipment down to the bottom afterwards. A seventh friend was waiting by the old transit van parked down in the valley floor below to pick them up later. They began unpacking their kit - wingsuits that made them look like ridiculous neon flying squirrels, helmets with gopro cameras attached to them, and harness containers with their parachutes. They got ready along with a plethora of “DUDE” exclamations and fist bumps. Crowley rolled his eyes. Bradleigh was in a neon yellow wingsuit with blue trim. Should be easy enough to track. The rest were on their own today, Crowley was here in an unofficial capacity as honourary guardian angel to only one particularly dense human this time. 

Bradleigh was going last. Crowley watched the others step off the edge, then stood and stepped off himself, riding a thermal in a slow spiral while he watched Bradleigh steel himself to take the drop as well. 

The human stepped forward, arms spread wide, pilot chute grasped firmly in one hand, and jumped. Crowley tucked his wings tight to his body and plunged after him. Crowley was rather more aerodynamic than the ungainly human in his flight suit, but even so it took feathertip control to keep himself in line at such high speeds. If he opened his wings too much too quickly he’d lose feathers at best, sprain or break a wing or joint, or at worst end up tumbling to the ground with a wing torn completely off. That wasn’t something Crowley intended to happen today. 

Luckily for Bradleigh, Crowley was an extremely skilled flier, with a speciality in high speed falcon stoops, ideal for such high speed pursuit. He barrelled along downwards, keeping pace with the whooping human, shielded from his eyes by a demonic miracle, saw Bradleigh glance at his altimeter, hesitate, and then let go of the pilot chute that’d open his main canopy. It fluttered upwards then stopped with a jerk that yanked the main canopy loose from the backpack. It unfurled but then in a horrifying couple of seconds that seemed to drag out far too long, the canopy twisted, the lines tangled and it failed to unfurl properly, being held down on one side by the caught up lines. This was why the crazy human had been granted a guardian angel, Crowley thought, grimly. He was a bloody walking disaster. 

Crowley tried to see if he had an RSL - the reserve static line that’d deploy the reserve chute when the main one was cut away, or if it was a manual one. The equipment didn’t appear to have one. Crowley hissed. The human was panicking. He flicked his wingtip to curve his flight on an interception course with the human, allowed his nails to lengthen to demonic claws with an extra sharpened edge. He collided with the confused human, breaking the concealment miracle with the contact, and found himself face to face with a very terrified Bradleigh. 

Crowley clung to the now screaming lad, slashed through the caught up lines with his claws to sever them, yanked the reserve chute and clung on to ensure that it deployed properly, before nodding curtly at the human and letting go, flapping back now that their speed was reduced to a safe velocity to do so, and putting a safe distance between them. Bradleigh stared at him agape as he floated earthwards. Crowley saw he was going to be ok, then flapped a couple of strong wingbeats skywards and made himself scarce again before the humans on the ground could notice him. 

Job done.

* * *

Aziraphale looked up from his chair next to Lucy where they sat side by side in the salon getting manicures together, as Crowley sauntered in and collapsed with a sigh in the next seat. “Can I get one too?” he called out, and a nail tech hurried over with a smile. 

“You were right, Angel, that was what you were needed for. Close thing but I got him down safe.”

Aziraphale beamed warmly at his demon.. “Thank you darling. Oh, sorry, Lucy, this is my husband, Crowley, Crowley, this is Lucy.”

Lucy grinned at Crowley. “You’re just as handsome as he says you are.” Crowley snorted and stared at his own fingertips as they were worked on, a hint of a blush suffusing his ears and neck. Lucy carried on. “Thank you for getting my laptop fixed as well.” Crowley shrugged and avoided eye contact. He was still uneasy with the whole “being good” thing. 

They all ended up in Lucy’s digs later, eating Ben & Jerry’s and watching _Legally Blonde_ , gossiping and relaxing, while Crowley dispensed rather good foot massages to them both. “So, who you got on Monday, Angel?” Crowley enquired. 

“Ugh, Deborah. I mean her heart is in the right place, but she does so insist on trying to cuddle every damn animal she rescues and it’s all I can do to stop her getting bitten all the time. I’m rather hoping that she’ll learn sooner or later. I mean she rescued a badger the other week, a damned _badger_ , Crowley. With her bare hands!”

Crowley giggled. “A guardian angel’s work is never done, love.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right” Aziraphale huffed, and downed another spoonful of cookie dough ice cream. “Anyway, Lucy, where’s this Robert boy taking you next weekend? I simply _must_ know all the details my dear…” 

A week later, Aziraphale and Crowley sat on a rooftop side by side, sharing a bottle of wine and watching as Rob dropped Lucy off at her digs and drove off at high speed in his ridiculously modified ford escort with a stupidly loud fart can exhaust on the back. Crowley pulled a face and passed the bottle back to the angel. 

“Looks like he covered it in superglue and ram raided Halfords*” he remarked disapprovingly. He winced as it scraped over a speedbump, grounding out due to the lowered suspension and badly fitted bodykit and splitter. The stretched tyres scuffed at the wheel arches. The car was festooned with stickers and cheap chrome trim. 

Aziraphale passed the bottle back again. “She does seem somewhat infatuated with the boy though, dear,” he remarked idly, if with a slight undertone of agreement with Crowley’s sentiment. “We aren’t to judge though, are we Crowley? After all, my superiors hardly approved of you as an appropriate suitor did they?” He accepted the bottle back from Crowley and took another gulp.

Crowley pulled a face. “Yeah, but I’m not a complete wankpuffin.”

Aziraphale snorted and a fine mist of merlot escaped into the night sky. “Pardon?”

Crowley looked at him. “Well, he is. And I’m not. I don’t like him.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Ours is not to interfere with the course of love, dear. She’s to learn this one on her own, we’re just here to help out with the fallout if it goes wrong. Keeping her safe from harm doesn’t extend to interfering in her love life.”

“I’ll interfere in _your_ love life” Crowley muttered under his breath, with a slight smirk on his features. Neither of which went unnoticed by the angel. 

“Is that a promise, dearest?” Aziraphale teased.

Crowley took the bottle back and finished it. “Absofuckinglutely. Let’s go home, Angel.”

* * *

Lucy was fairly upbeat for a few weeks and needed minimal intervention, so Aziraphale found himself needed with other humans, like Marjorie, who mainly just needed someone to pop round for a cup of tea and a packet of biscuits. Her sight was going so Aziraphale delighted in reading to her for a few hours a day. 

Then there was Derek, a hapless builder who was constantly coming within inches of ridiculous accidents that required a plethora of minor miracles to keep him from serious injury or rather messy worse consequences. Aziraphale found him to be second only in stress levels to Bradleigh. 

Just as he had made the nail gun misfire instead of nailing Derek’s hand to a length of two by four, he then had to do a quick miracle to let him regain his balance rather than falling off the scaffolding that he hadn’t put up properly. Not half an hour elapsed before he had to divert a falling brick from hitting Derek on the head when he forgot to put his hard hat on again. 

Knowing that Aziraphale had been covering Derek all afternoon, Crowley had another packet of Jaffa cakes out of the secret drawer ready when he came back to the bookshop. Except that he didn’t get home when Crowley expected him to, and he had to keep the coffee miracled hot for another four hours before the angel came back, exhausted. He downed the coffee gratefully in a few gulps then sat down on the sofa with a sigh and began demolishing the Jaffa cakes with a vengeance. 

Crowley sat down next to him and wrapped his long gangly limbs around the angel, but couldn’t get as cuddly as he wanted to, so slid into his serpentine form with a sigh, then proceeded to wrap his coils gently around Aziraphale until he was sufficiently hugged. The angel sat back and stroked Crowley’s glossy black coils gratefully, resting his head back on the sofa. 

“You were right, dearest.” He finally said. 

Crowley couldn’t talk in his serpentine form, but he didn’t need to. He hugged slightly tighter for a second and regarded the angel steadily with sympathetic golden eyes. 

“About the … wankpuffin, as you so eloquently described him. He dumped her, he’d been cheating on her. Poor Lucy is in bits. Just when I thought my job was getting easier again too.”

Crowley appeared to be thinking for a moment, then he gave another squeeze, uncoiled and slithered away toward the flat upstairs, retaking his human form when he got to the bottom of the stairs, then stomping off up them. After a few minutes he sauntered downstairs again, a demonic smirk plastered across his features as he paused by the sofa to kiss his husband, then headed towards the door.

There, Crowley paused again and shrugged on his donkey jacket. Aziraphale eyed him suspiciously. “Darling…?” He began, unsure if he really wanted the forthcoming question actually answering or not, “... why are you wearing your ‘Fuck Shit Up’ jacket?”

Crowley glanced at him with a devilish grin. “Because, light of my life, I’m about to Fuck Shit Up.”

* * *

Crowley got bored easily. His demonic soul felt bereft when he didn’t have mischief to make. He didn’t like actually harming humans, he never had, but mild inconveniences that tarnished the soul and made life a misery for those who deserved it, that was his forté, his raison d’être. 

So whenever his hobby of helping Aziraphale with the guardian angel work presented him with an opportunity to be slightly bad, he leapt on it with glee. And Aziraphale knew it best to let him, to get it out of his system. He knew that Crowley would never kill or hurt a human, but he could make their life a living hell in so many petty little ways, and always gave the demon such a huge mood boost that it was worth it just to see that beautiful smile on his features at the satisfaction of a bad job well done. 

Crowley drove past the ridiculously modified ford escort and parked around the corner, and then sauntered back down the dark street. He sat down on a garden wall and gave a low whistle. A few minutes later there was a susurration in the bushes and he smiled to see the attentive faces and curious black eyes of a small horde of helpful rats gathered there, waiting for further instructions. He reached out to pet one of them fondly. 

“Good to see you again, Dexter, thanks for bringing the lads and ladies. Got a little job for you.” He nodded toward the house they were sitting outside. “I’m sure you can get in, the usual this time. You get to keep what you grab. There’ll be a bonus hidden in the bush here as well when you’re done, don’t forget to take it with you when you go, don’t worry, it’s not broccoli.”**

Dexter squeaked and the small army of rats scurried off to sneak their way into the house. Crowley stood up and removed a bag of bird seed from his pocket. He hummed happily as he scattered half of it on the roof of the escort, then carefully placed the remainder of the bag in the bottom of the hedge for his friends to get later. 

Next he grabbed some needle nose pliers, knelt down next to the car and unscrewed the valve caps, letting all of the air out. He fished in his pocket and withdrew a tube of superglue, then carefully glued all of the valve caps back on again. 

He stood again and considered his handiwork thus far. He reached into his other pocket and withdrew a can of tuna and a can opener. He opened it then tipped half of it into the scuttle panel below the windscreen, then looked about a bit with his superior night vision until he spied what he was looking for. He knelt down and whistled quietly. 

Presently a local stray cat sauntered toward him, warily. Crowley upended the remains of the tin of tuna on the pavement for it then snapped the empty tin away into the aether. This done, he snapped up a ladder and laid it against the telegraph pole serving the surrounding set of houses. He then ascended, tinkering with the control box, unplugged a wire, plugged in a small box in series with it then re-plugged it to close the connection again with a satisfied smirk. This was the kind of tech he _could_ do. 

He fired up his phone and launched the custom programme that Jason had written for him. After a few moments it beeped as it connected with the little box, and Crowley began tapping with a purpose, then closed up the control box and slid back down the ladder, snapped it away, and peered over the hedge to where he could see the rats emerging from the house again from whatever tiny crack they’d found to squeeze in by. 

Each rat was carrying a single left sock. One paused to grab the paper bag half full of seed on it’s way past, squeaked in thanks, and scampered off in adorable bouncing hops after the rest. Apparently the socks made good nesting material, or so Dexter had told him. 

“Thanks, chaps,” Crowley called after them softly, then slunk away into the dark himself, fairly glowing with a dark red aura of contentment and demonic satisfaction. 

* * *

The next morning Rob woke up, and tried to check his social media on his phone. He couldn’t. For some reason he couldn’t get on the wifi, and when he tried it kept saying “password incorrect.” He gave up and switched to 4G data, although that would use up the allowance on his plan, but he didn’t know how to deal with the wifi issue yet. 

Rummaging through his drawers getting dressed he couldn’t find any matching socks so had to make do with a mismatched pair, which were also ever so slightly different physical design so his feet felt weird. 

Going out to his car he found it absolutely covered in pigeons and bird crap. He shooed them away angrily, then realised that all four tyres were flat. He sighed and went to get the little air compressor, then found that he couldn’t get the valve caps off. He called the RAC to get it towed to a garage to get sorted out. 

3 hours later, with new valves installed on all four wheels at a not inconsiderable cost for the time of removing and fixing them, he drove away from the garage. He became aware of a disgusting fishy stink coming from the air vents. By the time he got to work, 5 hours late, he was almost retching, and got a dressing down from his boss. 

Unbeknownst to Rob, as he sat behind his desk, a vintage Bentely pulled up in the work car park and drew to a halt next to the escort. A tall skinny redhead in a donkey jacket alighted and knelt down next to the nearside front wheel. He pulled a set of peel and stick lead wheel balancing weights from his pocket, then proceeded to stick them all onto the single wheel, on the inner aspect where they couldn’t be seen. 

Whistling happily, he stood up again, hopped in the Bentley and sped off. 

Rob’s drive home was plagued by him having to wrestle with the steering wheel which wobbled alarmingly in his hands from the severely unbalanced tyre on the front. It would be a week before he figured out why, and a month before he found the tuna.

* * *

Crowley glanced in the rear view mirror at their passenger. Lucy, although clearly tired from crying, had a hint of a smile on her lips at the unexpected outing. Crowley had arranged for a day out at a beauty spa for manis again, pedicures, massage, facial, and a blow dry. 

They all deserved a pampering, he decided. Plus, chauffeur driven service from your guardian angel’s husband was a nice bonus. He made sure to drive nicely so as not to terrify the human. She seemed to appreciate it. 

He decided to tell Lucy, as they sat getting pedicures together, what he’d done to the ford focus. She laughed at last. Crowley smiled back. “Sometimes it’s fun to be a petty bitch” he grinned. Aziraphale rolled his eyes but nonetheless smiled warmly at his husband. 

They went for a night out after that to unwind. At one point a particularly douchebag-looking dude began taking rather too much interest in Lucy for Crowley’s taste, so he loomed over the interloper, dipped his shades a little and pinned the guy with a glimpse of a thousand watt demonic glare, coupled with a slow grin that gradually revealed teeth that looked rather too sharp to be entirely human. The douchebag hurriedly made himself scarce, and Crowely collapsed back on the sofa between Aziraphale and Lucy in a fit of giggles. Aziraphale batted at him playfully. 

“You are an absolute menace, dear” the angel admonished gently. Crowley grinned and knocked back a bit more wine before refilling all their glasses again. He gazed across the sea of heaving bodies on the dancefloor and appeared to notice something interesting on the far side. He caught his husband’s eye and nodded in the direction of the bar. Aziraphale looked confused for a minute before he spotted what, or rather, who, Crowley had spotted, and raised his eyebrows in surprise. 

“Oh, I see. I’ll be back in a moment, Lucy…” The angel made his way over to the bar. When he came back a few moments later, it was with Lloyd in tow. “Lucy, this is my friend Lloyd, he’s on his own this evening so I thought I’d ask him if he’d like to join us, is that ok with you?”

Lucy gazed up at the handsome young guy and smiled shyly. “Sure.” She reached out to shake his hand. “Are you another angel then? You look like one.” Lloyd’s eyes went wide and he stammered in surprise. 

“Uh, oh, no, noooo, Mr Fell is my guardian angel, I’m human.” 

Lucy laughed. “He’s mine too. Want some of this wine? Crowley chose it, it’s rather nice.” Lloyd nodded in assent and settled down on the sofa next to them. 

By the end of the evening, Lucy and Lloyd were laughing uproariously together, sitting side by side, with eyes only for each other. Aziraphale leaned on his husband with a fond smile. “If I’d known they had so much in common I’d have tried this ages ago, thank you dear. I may be a cherub but I’d never thought to do any matchmaking.”

Crowley laughed. “You told me you hate that valentines ‘cherub’ nonsense, that cherubs have nothing to do with making people fall in love.”

Aziraphale poked him in the ribs playfully. “And I do, I also still think that was all your demonic work to embarrass me, dear.” Crowley looked affronted and indignant in such a blatantly overacted way that it made it abundantly clear that Aziraphale was, in fact, correct. 

As it got late, they left the club together and ambled down the street in a little group, two pairs holding hands and laughing together, angel and demon a step or two behind the humans. Aziraphale particularly pleased that his husband had helped him cheer up two birds with one stone, so to speak, until he noticed Lucy freeze, and he looked past her with furrowed brow to see what had startled her. 

It was Rob, with a couple of mates, presumably out getting rowdily drunk to the point they’d already been thrown out of at least two bars for their behaviour. He spotted Lucy, and also froze, a dark scowl on his features. 

Crowley let go of Aziraphale’s hand and adroitly stepped around Lucy and Lloyd, murmuring a quiet “leave this to me, and close your eyes…” as he passed them. He then addressed Rob and his little gang, who looked to be gearing up to start trouble. “What seems to be the problem, chaps?” The demon grinned a slow, easy smile that didn’t hold a single trace of warmth in it, his arms spread wide. 

“She’s been messing with my car! Anyway who are you, her dad? You look like a right…” Rob didn’t get to finish his sentence. Where the tall skinny guy had been standing was something _dreadful_. He blacked out. So did his friends.

Crowley restored himself to his favourite shape. 

“I hate having to do that,” he murmured. “I’m always afraid I’ll forget how to change back. And it can ruin a good suit.”

“I think the maggots were a bit over the top, myself,” said Aziraphale, but without much rancour.*** “It’s ok, you can open your eyes again now, you two,” the Angel announced brightly. “I don’t believe he’ll be bothering you any more in future, not after that.”

Crowley turned away from the pile of temporarily prone (unconscious but unharmed) humans, and almost immediately found himself almost bowled over backwards as Lucy tackled him into an overly enthusiastic hug. He stared down at the little human with her arms wrapped tight around his torso in bafflement, his own arms wide, unsure what to do. He settled for a cautious pat on her shoulder.

“Thank you for everything, Crowley.” Lucy enthused, planting a chaste kiss on his cheek. The demon was nonplussed. 

“Uh, don’t mention it.” he replied. 

“Does this make you my guardian uncle or something, then?” Lucy asked, letting him go and returning to wind her hand around Lloyd’s waist and hugging him close. Aziraphale giggled. Crowley shot him a Look. The demon shrugged. Still coming to terms with the whole ‘being nice’ thing. 

“Er… Guardian Demon will do I guess.” 

Lloyd reached out and shook him by the hand. “Cheers, Crowley, I appreciate it.” 

Crowley nodded in silence, now having been thanked by not one but _two_ humans for being _nice_. He was feeling distinctly out of sorts. He was saved by Aziraphale wrapping him up in a hug. He knew exactly what the demon’s thought process was regarding the whole ‘thanks’ thing. The angel kissed him then pressed his lips close to Crowley’s ear and whispered: 

“Better let the humans get home, then I plan to take you back to the bookshop, stand next to my sturdiest bookshelf and tell you how _nice_ you are, darling.” He pulled back with his ‘Just Enough Of A Bastard’ smirk plastered across his features. Crowley grinned wickedly. 

“Is that a promise, Angel?”

“Abso _fucking_ lutely my dear.”

**Author's Note:**

> * Halfords is a very old British car supplies chain, although in modern times it’s best known for cheap tacky modifications.
> 
> ** Dexter the rat hates broccoli: [Youtube link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rTVs_t7hvbU)
> 
> Dexter still hates broccoli: [Youtube link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZWC_phzWDWE)
> 
> *** Yes, this is lifted directly from the book.


End file.
